Fate's Fury
by Reinart
Summary: A take on how Tom Riddle came to be, the events that conspired to make him who he is, and whether it is ever possible to take a stand against Fate - or is everything inevitable? Possible future Tom/Harry if I extend the story beyond a mere oneshot. R&R!


Fate's Fury

**A/N**: I am uncertain as to whether I'll make this a chaptered story, or leave it as a oneshot. So be sure to let me know what you think I should do – is it worth continuing it? I do have quite a good idea of what would occur if I write more chapters... But meh! It depends on you ^_^

oOo

His small teeth biting down furiously upon his cherubic bottom lip, Tom Riddle sat cross legged upon his dingy little bed, and repeatedly gouged the back of his left hand with his right thumb nail. It dug bloody dents into his otherwise flawless skin, leaving crimson tracks to trickle turgidly down his wrist before his mouth clamped angrily over the cuts to suck the blood away – he disliked staining his clothes.

He was furious. With a sudden vicious impulse, he bit his hand savagely, observing the scratch marks and teeth imprints with a grim satisfaction, until, suddenly, he dissolved into gasping sobs.

But his eyes remained steadfastly, achingly dry.

Nestled upon his lap curled the frail little corpse of a common garden snake, its head crushed to a smear of scaly gristle, and its tail wrenched to the side.

A snub nosed freckle faced boy came towards Tom, and he stared at the snake, enthralled and disgusted. He thrust forward a grubby paw, and made as if to touch the snake-

"He's _mine_", Tom spat, and kicked the boy away, cradling the corpse protectively.

The boy skittered away and began to whinge, "'ere Riddle, let us 'ave a look at it, wasn' me who did it, go on Riddle, let us - "

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Tom bit out furiously, and clenched his fist so tightly that his fingernails cut into his flesh to form clear, crescent shaped cuts. They oozed tears of watery blood, and stung a little, yet the five year old gave them a cursory glance, only to dismiss them a moment later.

The red haired boy, Jack London (London was the surname affixed to all the nameless bastards who were spawned in the orphanage's catchment area), began to squall insistently, his chubby face reminiscent of a weeping crimson prune.

Tom felt a rising panic at the din the tantrum was causing, painfully aware of the heavy footsteps that thumped steadily towards the room. His stomach clenched nervously, and fervently he wished, he prayed for the boy to just _shut up_.

The steps paused ominously outside the door, and Tom gritted his teeth as the heavy anticipatory silence lengthened until –

Wait. Silence?

Tom's gaze revolved slowly until it rested upon the boy. His face was still an unflattering puce, and he _seemed_ to be choking upon incoherent tears, yet, not a murmur escaped his lips – despite his mouth flapping in a hysterical silent roar.

Tom's lips compressed to form a small, wondering smile, and he cast a quick glance up at the crucifix that lay above his – and every orphan's – bed. The wooden effigy upon the cross remained impassive, its features contorted into a sickeningly sweet tenderness, two fingers weakly raised in a weary benediction.

Tom tried to mimic the expression, and thoughtfully raised his hand in an echo of the carved figure's, pointed his fingers towards the door, and _prayed, wished_, for the matron to retreat.

And she did, her lumbering footsteps becoming fainter as she continued to plod down along the corridor.

Tom's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed pink with pleasure, until he once more became aware of the weight in his lap, and the sad corpse of the once sinuously beautiful serpent curled brokenly upon his knees.

An idea sprung rapidly to mind, and shivering with shock and hope, Tom raised his hand and prayed for the snake to return, to be healed, fixed, _his._ He closed his eyes tightly, hoping against hope, an anticipatory exhilaration rushing through his body –

And then the serpent moved, her length shuddering violently as she twisted back into shape, her body filling out into its original form, the broken scales magically replenishing into burnished wholes, her eyes gleaming with a reinforced and glittering life. Her tongue flickered out, tasting the air, and she twisted to meet her master's intoxicated gaze. She hissed wonderingly.

"_Master...?"_

Tom sat rigidly, his eyes stretched wide, gazing at the crucifix. In an excited whisper he addressed the snake hoarsely, "_Yes. Yes I did it. Or _He_ did it. Did you see Him...? Did He send you back to me? What did He say – tell me!"_

The serpent cocked her head in confusion._ "Master... I saw no one. There was nothing, and then there was your scent, intertwined with the death stench of another"_

Her body bobbed and swayed as she tasted the air, and her tongue flared as she came across a familiar smell. _"Master, there is the death stench"_

Tom paused momentarily, blinking in confusion. "_What death stench?"_

His eyes travelled slowly to where the snake was indicating, and a strange numbness stilled both his body, and his racing thoughts. "_Ah"_, he murmured softly, and a peculiar detached curiosity drove him to look closer.

The corpse of the red haired boy lay contorted upon the ground, his skin waxy and his limbs coldly stiff. The bubble of silence that had encapsulated him only minutes before, seemed to have dissipated, as soft squelching noises burbled gently from the dead child's body. His gaping maw hung open in an endless silent scream, a rope of saliva suspended between his lips, and his eyes stared lifelessly, ginger freckles stark against snowy skin.

Tom bit back a giggle. Freckle was such a silly word.

Quietly, Tom drew back from the body, and got into bed, his snake curling upon the pillow beside him. Dimly, he was aware of his self inflicted wounds sealing, and fresh skin smoothing flawlessly over the ragged cuts. He snuggled cosily under the thin sheets, the mattress digging lumpily into his side. And he slept peacefully.

The figurine upon the crucifix surveyed the room blandly, its fingers raised in the same kindly benediction.

The corpse merrily decomposed.

oOo

Fate, however, did not seem to appreciate Tom's efforts at dabbling in her work, and so it was, the next day, that the matron stormed in with the usual shrill wake-up call only to be stopped short by the sight of the gaping, rotting corpse.

Her eyes, travelling frantically around the room in desperate search of the cause of death, alighted upon the innocent snake nestled comfortably on the pillow, her cheek pressed against Tom's.

And so it was, that Tom stared with dull eyes, and blank expression, as the matron later tossed the crushed and unrecognisable remains of the serpent onto the rubbish heap, before proceeding to roughly lock him in the Punishment Room.

A glimmer of scarlet blooded the child's eyes as the door slammed shut in his face.

oOo

The priest observed the child pleasantly, his bald pate glinting an eerie yellow in the dimly lit, windowless room. Known rather crudely as the Punishment Room, the space served as a sort of confessional box, so to speak, yet somewhat more permanent. Small, windowless, and resolutely grim, the room contained only a thin mattress, a chamberpot, an iron chair, and a crucifix that hung above the door.

The child was sitting upon the iron chair, and having tentatively noted that the mattress seemed to be a breeding ground for fleas, the priest remained standing, his hands clasped loosely around his large belly, and a benevolent smile creasing his coarse features.

"So Tom", he began jovially, leaning his big heavy face towards the boy. "I believe you have something to tell me?"

The boy nodded tightly, his eyes glinting with a barely suppressed accusation.

"It wasn't my snake", he said loudly, his voice seeming too large for the small muffled room. "It was Him." He pointed hesitantly at the crucifix.

It gazed tenderly back.

Tom continued in a low voice, his childish tones eclipsed by his cool demeanour and his adult enunciation, "I prayed for it to happen, and it did", he said stiffly.

The priest rocked back on his heels and smiled genially. "Don't be foolish, child" he murmured. "Now, if you would begin the Act of Contrition for knowingly bringing such a dangerous creature into-"

"It's true", the child suddenly burst out, his fists suddenly clenched.

"Don't be stupid, child", the priest bit out impatiently. "Now, after me. O my God, I thank you for loving-"

"I swear!", Tom's clipped tones suddenly sounded infinitely younger, a childish tremor undermining his words. He stood up, his small and slender frame tensed defiantly. Yet he seemed uncertain.

"If your prayer was answered, then it was by the devil. That was the devil's handiwork, my son", the priest declared portentously, trying a new tack. He began to ramble, "The devil as embodied by the serpent, the serpent who tempted Eve, the serpent who fell and declared that he 'would not serve', who opposed the Divine Order and..."

Unwillingly, the child listened, his fists clenching tightly causing his nails, once again, to cut into the delicate flesh of his palms. As his palms wept dark tears of blood, the priest spoke at length about Evil, the Serpent, the dead rising again – until his thoughts became a whirling mass of confusion, an echoing whirlpool of conflicting imagery, until, his body frail due to enforced "fasting", he fainted in an unforgivable display of weakness, his last thought of how much he would miss his pet snake. 

oOo

**A/N**: So, to continue or not to continue, that is the question. Please review to let me know – it will send warm fuzzy shivers of delight down my spine ^_~


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